


Tidings of Comfort and Joy

by Forgive_Me_Severus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Geolina, Comfort Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Ron Weasley Bashing, Smut, background romione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27127540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgive_Me_Severus/pseuds/Forgive_Me_Severus
Summary: They're both broken. Can a chance encounter at The Leaky Cauldron put them back together?A George and Hermione One Shot of Hurt and Comfort.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/George Weasley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	Tidings of Comfort and Joy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Wizarding World.
> 
> Rating: MA/Ex/NC-17 for detailed smut. 
> 
> Mild Ron bashing.

* * *

* * *

__________________________________

December 23, 1998 – 6:58 pm

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The whistle of the trains blew loudly around her as she stepped onto King’s Cross station from Platform 9 ¾. She took a deep breath through her nose, the odious mixture of Creosote and steel break dust filling her sinuses. There was a spark in the air. To the Muggles, it was the promise of a snow white holiday, Father Christmas, and joyfully opening presents around giant, gloriously lit Christmas pines. To her, it was the promise of awkwardness, sadness, and regret.

After the Battle of Hogwarts in May of that year, things were different. The elation at Voldemort’s demise didn’t overshadow the loss, and as Ron, Hermione, and Harry spent the next several months making sense of it all, everything fell apart again when Harry and Ron decided they weren’t going to attend Hogwarts in the Autumn for their final year. Instead, they took jobs at the Ministry, training as Aurors. Hermione, ever devoted to her studies – and secretly seeking the respite that Hogwarts would bring – went back in September for her first year at Hogwarts that wasn’t weighed down by a blanket of uncertainty.

It was easy, Hogwarts. Well, as easy as it could be when every corner you turned didn’t remind you of another innocent person dying at the hands of a Death Eater. But this, Hermione knew, coming home for the Christmas holiday was hard. Especially because she and Ron, after their summer of off-and-on again, went separate ways. Not permanently, they promised each other, though Hermione wasn’t sure if Ronald could live outside of the moment to see the bigger picture of a life together after Hogwarts.

Hermione sighed, looked around the station for anyone she might know, tucked her head into her chest and hoped her now-flowing chestnut locks would hide her identity from those with more penetrating gazes. It was undeniable now, the War Hero status she and her friends held. If she were being honest with herself, it was one of the reasons she decided to go back to Hogwarts. She didn’t want the fame, she didn’t want the attention - whereas Ron seemed to revel in it.

She shook her head, ridding herself of the memory of Ron eagerly signing photographs outside of The Leaky Cauldron the day before Hermione was due back at school. Instead of supper together, she spent most of it alone as he regaled his circle of teenage fans in the tale of him speaking Parseltongue to get into the Chamber on that fateful night.

She left the station quickly and walked the short distance to The Leaky Cauldron. She needed a drink before she faced him again as the memory of that last night – and the subsequent row – threatened to surface. She passed Muggle carolers, singing at the top of their lungs in period clothing, and ‘Tidings of Comfort and Joy’ followed her into the famous little pub. As the door closed before her, she was taken aback by just how _normal_ everything seemed to be.

In the back sat a pair of hags, one smoking on a long pipe. At the bar, every other seat was taken – a weary witch or wizard drinking away their long workday. She looked around, taking off her plaid winter scarf. No one here seemed familiar, looked familiar, and better yet, no one seemed to think _she_ was familiar. Sidling up to the bar, she hugged her beaded bag close, took off her pea coat, and sat at a free stool near the door. It was habit, she realized. After months on the run, months looking over her shoulder, she formed a habit of sitting by the nearest exit to make a quick escape – just in case. She also realized it was probably part of her post traumatic stress disorder, but Muggle psychology wasn’t really something she had studied very thoroughly.

It was then Tom, the barkeep, sat a shot glass full of amber liquid in front of her. She stared at it for a moment before looking up at him.

“I didn’t order this,” she said as he began to walk away. Turning around, he pointed behind Hermione, and winked at her.

“That bloke did, though,” he said simply before stalking away. Hairs prickled on the back of Hermione’s neck and she let out a long breath through puckered lips, trying to calm her pounding heart. Someone recognized her after all. Was it a fan? Was she about to be bombarded for photographs and signatures and asked to play Gryffindor Golden Girl? Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned her head slightly to look behind her.

In a darkened corner, a thin, lanky figure sat at a small, two-person table. His face was hidden in the dark, but his long legs were stretched out in front of him, one ankle resting on a knee. He held up a shot glass in a silent 'Cheers!' when he saw her looking at him and then it disappeared into the dark for just a brief moment before it hit the table – face down and empty – with a loud _thunk!_

She stared, heart pounding. He seemed vaguely familiar, the way he sat slouching; the way his legs rested; the way his long, thin fingers held up the shot glass, barely gripping it between thumb and forefinger. He sat forward then, and Hermione let out an audible gasp.

It was George Weasley – and he looked shattered.

Hermione’s heart crumbled seeing his pale, gaunt face. She grabbed her shot glass and pea coat, and walked over to him, sitting in the free chair at his table. His blue eyes swung to meet her honey ones, and she could see the despair in them.

“George…” Hermione said, a free hand reaching up to cup his face. He leaned into her warmed hand, but only for a moment before sitting back in his chair.

“You should drink that. Ogden’s Old doesn’t fare well outside the bottle for more than a few minutes,” George stated, his voice deep and scratchy as if it hadn’t been used in a while. Hermione ripped her eyes away from George and back down to the shot glass. She fingered it for a moment before picking it up and swallowing the shot whole. Shuddering, she set the shot glass back down on the table and sat back in her own chair.

She could see him better this way, both of them silhouetted in the dark. He didn’t look well. He was malnourished, she could tell. His fiery red hair lacked its usual luster as it hung to his shoulders in dry strings. His cheek bones protruded slightly causing his cheeks to have a sunken appearance. She felt tears prickle the corner of her eyes, trying to convince them not to fall. She knew Fred’s death – only seven months prior – hit him the hardest. His twin, his partner in crime, his brother, his other half – killed in an explosion outside the Room of Requirement that fateful day. She was there. She saw it happen.

She gasped as her heart gave a painful tug, and she couldn’t help the tear that ran down her cheek. A cool hand covered hers and she looked up at George, who shook his head.

“Not here,” he stated and stood up. Hermione stood, too, and followed him. She noticed a subtle nod between him and Tom, then he led her up the staircase to one of the many rooms that the pub let out.

Following him to the room at the end of the hall, he opened the door, allowing her to enter first, and he followed her in before closing the door. The room was bare except for the essentials: a full-sized bed with a small table next to it, a shabby wardrobe, and a beaten-down desk with an equally beaten-down chair. At the end of the bed stood George’s school trunk. That was it.

“You stay here?” she asked. He didn’t say anything as he passed her, taking off his light blazer and tossing it at the desk. It missed and landed in a heap on the floor by the chair. He sat down on the bed, removed his worn dragon-hide boots, which hit the floor with a couple of _clunks_ , and then fell backward on the bed.

Hermione stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do, feeling as if she was imposing. Turning to leave, she stopped when she heard him open his mouth to say something.

“Yes,” he said simply. There was a knock then at the door. “Get that, would you?” It was Tom who was carrying a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey in one hand and two shot glasses in another. He handed them to her and without saying a word, turned and walked down the hall.

The door closed on its own accord, and then the bottle and glasses shot out of her hands, landing with grace on the desk. Hermione whipped her head around just in time to see George’s wand retreat into his trousers pocket before he stood up, took two large strides to the desk, popped the cork from the bottle, and poured them a couple of shots. He downed his then poured another. He looked at her over his shot glass, then to the second in invitation.

Did she want to do this? Have drinks with Ron’s broken older brother? Commiserate with him? Laugh about the good times, the playful pranks, and then reiterate – again – how Fred died? She did that over and over again during the summer. She did it for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, she did it for George, she did it – four times – for the Ministry. And then she did it again during Fred’s funeral while she stood in support of Ron during his eulogy.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

Fuck it.

She dropped her pea coat on the floor where she stood. Her scarf joined it, along with her beaded bag. She took a few strides to the desk, picked up the shot glass, and swallowed the amber brown liquid whole. She set the glass back down on the desk and nodded at George for another drink. He smiled then – though no real joy reached his eyes - and winked at her, pouring more amber liquid into her glass.

“Good woman,” he said, swallowing a third shot while she followed him with her second. They stood at the desk for a moment longer before she eyed the bed and walked the few short paces to sit down on it. He followed, bottle and shot glasses in hand.

“Why do you stay here? I thought the shop had a flat above it?” Hermione asked, shaking her head as he offered to pour her another drink. He took one more shot before leaning over her to place them on the bedside table. George groaned, flinging himself backward onto the bed again.

“It does,” he stated, his words almost slurred. She kicked off her winter boots, and then laid beside him on her side, her head propped up on her hand. His head lazily flopped to the side to look at her, and she was struck by sadness again. His once sparkly eyes, so full of mischief, were dull and nearly lifeless.

She knew why he didn’t stay there. It reminded him of Fred. The shop they built together, the success they created together, Fred was in every inch of that building. She understood. She felt the same way when she took her first step back into Hogwarts after the War. Her eyes closed as another tear slid down her cheek, her heart wrenched tightly when she thought about it all.

Very softly, a finger slid from her cheek bone up to her eye, smoothing away the fallen tear. She sobbed softly, bringing her hand to meet George’s long fingers and she held them against her face as she opened her eyes. There was only a moment of hesitation as they stared at each other, the desperation for comfort seared in his otherwise dull eyes, before they met each other halfway.

The kiss was hard, impatient. She sat up, grasped both sides of his thin face, and pulled him to her. His tongue pressed at her lips and they parted, allowing him to ravage her mouth. He tasted like firewhiskey and salt, an odd combination she thought at first before she realized she was tasting his tears as they dribbled freely down his face. She pulled back then, and looked at him, searching his desperate eyes.

“Hermione… please,” George pleaded, rivers of tears flowing down his cheeks. She kissed him again, pushing him down onto the bed. She straddled him, their mouths working together in unison, their tongues dancing, and began to unbutton his blue button-down shirt. He broke the kiss, grasping the bottom of her cable knit jumper and pulled it over her head, groaning when he saw the only thing she had on underneath was a simple black cotton bra.

He pried her fingers away from his buttons and sat up, an arm winding its way across her back as he buried his face in her breasts. Hermione moaned, letting her head fall back as another one of his hands reached up underneath her bra to cup a breast. His thumb found its way to her nipple, and he brushed it lightly, sighing when it hardened for him. He slowly dragged his free hand up her spine and unclasped her bra with surprising ease, letting it fall to the floor. Lying back down, his eyes widened in masculine appreciation at the sight of her exposed breasts.

Hermione should have felt embarrassed under his gaze. Or ashamed. Or a multitude of other feelings simply because this was _Ron’s_ brother. Her sometimes-boyfriend-first-lover’s _brother_. But as George reached up to cup another breast, his soft thumb flicking over the hardened nipple, she realized she didn’t care.

Smiling down at George, she swooped down to reclaim his mouth in another searing kiss. She unbuttoned the last two buttons and hurriedly pulled the fabric off his shoulders, and he shifted slightly so he could pull the long sleeves off his arms. Her fingers trailed down his chest, soft hair tickling her fingertips, and paused at his sides. She broke their kiss again and looked down as she ran her fingers over his exposed rib cage. More tears coursed down her cheeks, and he grabbed her face with his hands, bringing her eyes to meet his.

“Don’t,” he stated, his lips meeting hers again. He flipped her onto her back then as hurried fingers began to tear at the button on her jeans. She moaned when his tongue slipped back into her mouth, exploring the depths as he finally unbuttoned her jeans and slid them down her legs. They hit the floor with a soft thump, and he left her then, the cool air replacing the warmth of his body. Both nipples instantly hardened – partly from the coolness of the room, but mostly because of the look her gave her.

Standing at the edge of the bed, he breathed heavily, his eyes roaming over her nearly nude body. She watched him as he watched her, and she felt warm liquid pool at her core under his lust-blown eyes. Slowly and methodically, she rolled onto her stomach. As she placed her knees under her and gave him a spectacular view of her arse, he groaned. She lifted herself onto her hands and was about to stand up when she felt a finger rub her clothed clit.

“Oh,” Hermione moaned, her eyes fluttering closed. She felt George lean over her, slowly rubbing her through her black cotton knickers, and she began to move her hips against his hand. He kissed the side of her neck then, his heavy breathing hot in her ear. She leaned her head back, resting it on his shoulder as he continued to tease and tickle her throbbing clit.

“George…” she moaned, biting her bottom lip.

“Tell me what you want,” he grunted, slipping a finger under the band of her underwear, rubbing a knuckle through her swollen nether lips. A guttural sound escaped Hermione’s lips and she panted.

“ _That_ …” she purred, leaning into George’s hand. It was then that George pulled, then pulled again, and her knickers tore at her hips, joining her jeans on the floor. He plunged a long, slender finger into her, and she moaned deeply in her chest. He pumped it for a moment before a second digit joined the first.

“Oh, _fuucckk…”_ Hermione grunted. His fingers were slow, sliding in and out of her with ease. He teased her swollen clit with his thumb, and leaned back over her, trailing kisses down her spine.

“Hermione… you’re so fucking gorgeous,” George murmured, placing a lingering kiss at the base of her spine. Suddenly, he pulled his fingers out and she whimpered at the loss of them. She wiggled her hips, and rubbed her thighs together, the carnal need for release too strong.

“George…” Hermione whined, looking over her shoulder. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. He was nude now, and her eyes traveled down his long, lanky frame. There were hints of lean muscle in his arms and thighs, remnants of his time as a Gryffindor Beater, but he was much too thin. His rib cage slightly protruded when he stood, his hip bones too pronounced.

Tears begin to well in her eyes again.

“ _Don’t_ ,” George snapped, then grasped his thick cock that jutted out proudly between his legs. He moaned – only once – as he stroked himself, stalking to her. He lowered to his knees, and pried her legs apart. In an instant, his face was in her cunt, a wet tongue flat against her clit. Hermione closed her eyes and leaned into his face, her lips parted in awed pleasure.

“Ohhh…” she moaned as his tongue lazily twirled around her nub. Two fingers entered her again, thrust in and out as his tongue flicked that sensitive bud. She could feel the pressure building in her gut, she was so close…

Suddenly, his fingers and tongue left her.

“ _George_ ,” she growled, and reached down to rub her clit in desperation. His hand stopped her.

“No,” he snapped again. He laid down beside her on his back, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her up his body until her cunt hovered over his mouth. He recaptured her swollen clit with his lips, and she moaned loudly.

“Oh, _gods_!” she exclaimed. She collapsed against the wall, hands bracing her impact, and her hips moved in sync with his lips. She panted as the pleasure began to build in her gut.

“George… George, I’m going to come!” Hermione panted, and he growled, flinging his hands up to her hips to hold her in place while his tongue slid up and down her folds, plunging into her core. She crested then, a silent scream on her lips as white-hot pleasure flowed through her.

Gently, he picked her up and laid her next to him. She was breathing heavily, limbs twitching, and hazy eyed in the aftermath of the best orgasm she ever had. Almost boneless, her head flopped over to look at him. He was beautiful as he watched his hand trail softly over her exposed skin. His fingers traced a hardened nipple before palming a breast and squeezing gently. He then watched his hand trail down between her breasts and underneath, gently kneading the skin as he went. When his fingers reached her ribs, she laughed softly as he trailed down a ticklish spot. His eyes flicked up to her then, his pupils blown in lust, but a small smile crept up on his face as he gently trailed his fingernails down her side and his hand landed at her mound.

With expert fingers, he slid them through her folds again and her eyes rolled back in her head, back arching, hips meeting his hand.

“Do you know how beautiful you are?” George murmured at her ear, his middle finger plunging into her, slowly thrusting, teasing. She gasped out in pleasure, biting her lower lip, her heels digging into the mattress, her knees falling open to give him more room to do _whatever_ he wanted to do her. Her body felt hot under him, close to another orgasm. She reached down and pulled his hand from her, turning her head to look at him before crushing him in another impatient kiss.

She pushed him back on the bed, biting his lower lip. He grunted as her hand traveled down his chest, then his stomach, before grasping his hardened cock in her hand. Shuddering, his eyes closed, and his lips parted slightly as she began to stroke his length. Sitting up, she bit her own lower lip and watched his hips slightly buck under her hand, the purpling tip of his head glistening as she stroked it.

“ _You_ are beautiful,” she stated softly as he moaned under her touch.

His eyes flew open then, slitted in pleasure. He yanked her hand off his cock, grabbed her by the hips, threw her onto his lap, and paused. She nodded when she realized he was asking her if she was sure, then he thrust up into her.

They both groaned.

“Holy… _fuck_ ,” George moaned. Hermione breathed heavily, then sat up, sliding down his thick shaft until he was buried in her at the hilt. She gasped. He felt… _so good._ Meeting his eyes, he nodded, and she began to move her hips. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as she raised up over his cock and slid back down his length in a tantalizingly slow movement.

“George, tell me what you want,” Hermione said, thickly. George’s eyes snapped open and then he pulled her down to his chest by her arm, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss.

“I want you to fuck me until we both forget we’re broken,” George whispered, his anguished blue eyes meeting her honey ones. Tears filled her eyes then as she used his chest to guide herself back up into a sitting position and she rose above his cock until he was almost out of her before slamming her hips back down to meet his. He cried out, then sat up, both hands curled in her arse cheeks and she rammed down hard on him again.

He captured a nipple in his mouth, suckling until Hermione cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. His mouth traveled to her other breast, nipping at the skin as he went, before capturing her other nipple with his wet tongue. Her head fell back as he traced his tongue up her throat, suckling at the delicate skin between her neck and jaw, and her hips ground frantically against his, feeling the white-hot pleasure build up again.

“Oh, oh, oh,” Hermione muttered as his cock slipped in and out of her wet core, lewd noises filling the room. Suddenly he stilled and stood, recapturing her mouth with his, and without breaking contact – cock still buried in her to the hilt – he walked them to the desk. He kicked the chair out of the way and laid Hermione down on the decrepit piece of furniture, then he raised her legs so her ankles rested on his shoulders, and he pulled out slightly just to thrust back into her.

A primitive sound erupted from Hermione’s throat as he buried himself deeper into her, deeper than she ever thought possible. Bringing a thumb to her swollen clit, he rubbed her as his hips moved, faster and faster, harder and harder.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Hermione panted with each thrust. She was so close, _so close_.

Her orgasm hit her unexpectedly and she exploded with a scream. Warmth spread from her core to her toes, to the tips of her fingers, and black stars flooded her vision. George sped up then, his breath shallow and fast, and with one last thrust, his moan was amplified by the barrenness of the room and he spilled into her, filling her, her cunt soaking it up.

He collapsed, half on her, half on the desk. His red head rested on her stomach, his wild breath blowing hotly across her tender skin. Slowly, as he began to soften, he pulled out of her and she immediately mourned the loss of the fullness of him. He kissed her stomach, planting butterfly kisses to her navel before looking at her, a small, genuine smile playing at his lips.

Suddenly, three thuds sounded on George’s door.

“Oi! Youse two in there! Put up silencing charms next time! The whole bloody pub heard yer ruttin’!” came an unfamiliar gruff and then the sound of heavy retreating footsteps. Hermione turned wide eyes on George, his equally as wide, and they burst into light-hearted laughter.

After a few minutes, they slowly began to dress, talking as they did. George spoke about the shop, how it was so successful that he was able to hire full-time staff and he didn’t really need to be at the shop much except for monitoring the books once a month - he was still working up the courage to start inventing again. Hermione told him about her final classes, how Hogwarts was so different now – especially without Ron and Harry there with her - and how she would probably take her N.E.W.Ts early so she could start her Ministry-offered position.

They Apparated to the Burrow together, making up the excuse that they ran into each other in Diagon Alley. George watched as Ron threw himself at Hermione, kissing her sloppily and proclaiming he was sorry about how he treated her the night before she left for school. Hermione smiled as George hugged Angelina Johnson, who was spending Christmas at the Burrow at the invitation of Mrs. Weasley.

Neither of them ever spoke of their affair fueled by lust and mutual heart break. Even as George gained weight back; even as Hermione sought help for her PTSD; even as they got married to different people; even as they began to have children of their own, every December 23rd they shared a secret smile, and every time they heard ‘Tidings of Comfort and Joy’ they remembered the healing they found in each other.

**Author's Note:**

> I literally woke up at 5:30 this morning with this urge to write this one shot. I hope it doesn’t disappoint, as I am very rusty when it comes to writing smut. Let me know how I did!
> 
> 12/19/20: The story has been restructured for better flow, in addition to minor edits.


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